


Mirror-Finished

by Lomonaaeren



Series: July Celebration Fics [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:31:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7446031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Lucius have a great deal of business to settle, but also a great deal of pleasure. To their mutual satisfaction, they find they can mix them pretty well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror-Finished

**Author's Note:**

> Another July Celebration fic that began as an Advent request, from nia_kantorka, who asked for a sequel to my Harry/Lucius fic Battlefield. Since, in the meantime, I wrote another fic in that series called “Running Battle,” this is the sequel to both.

“You should take precautions, Harry. You know that.”

Kingsley recited the words in a dull voice, looking at the wall of his office. Then he turned back to Harry and sighed hard enough that Harry touched his hair to make sure it hadn’t got all tangled. Lucius had nicely cast some smoothing spells on it that had halfway worked.

Well, all right, maybe only a quarter of the way. But that was still better than most of the spells had worked so far.

“All right,” Kingsley said. “So now I’ve given the warning that we both know you aren’t going to heed, and you’ve got to give the acknowledgment that we both know you don’t mean, and we’ll both have done what we had to, according to Auror protocol.”

“I should take precautions. And I intend to. Would it help if I said that I’ll be spending the next few nights behind some of the strongest protective spells in Britain?”

Kingsley paused, cupped a hand around his ear, and moved it slowly back and forth as if he was cleaning the lobe. “I must—be losing my hearing,” he said slowly. “I thought I heard you say that and actually _mean_ it.”

“I said it,” said Harry. He had kept his face straight with an effort, but now he began to smile, and Kingsley gave him a faint, polite, incredulous smile back. “I meant it.”

“Whose walls?”

At least Kingsley hadn’t leaped straight to “whose bed.” Harry ducked his head coyly and looked up at Kingsley from between his eyelashes. “Why, Minister, I think you might know that already,” he said in a breathy voice.

“Harry.” Kingsley sounded almost awed, and he leaned back in his chair, holding onto the arms. “Dear Merlin. That’s _disturbing_.”

Harry laughed openly at him. “Aren’t you glad those rumors the _Prophet_ tried to spread about us dating came to nothing, then?”

“Yes.” Kingsley shuddered and stared at him. “You—you’re spending the next few nights with Lucius Malfoy?”

“ _And_ days.”

“Don’t try to sound wounded. That’s one thing you’re not good at, unlike diplomacy and defensive spells and the rest of an Auror’s repertoire.”

Harry pressed one hand to his heart and let his eyelashes flutter again, mostly to see Kingsley’s reaction. “Careful, Minister. That’s the sort of thing Lucius is always saying, that I should try to develop my talents and show off the heart of who I really am. If you insist on saying that and not retracting it, then you might have a fight on your hands over my affections.”

Kingsley stood up this time, and then backed away so his shoulders were touching his bookshelves. Harry laughed and stood up.

“From now on,” said Kingsley earnestly, “let’s establish a protocol where you never, ever, ever tell me about your romantic life again.”

“But what if that’s one of the talents I’ve been given by nature and I should learn to develop? You know, like diplomacy, that you’re always insisting I’m so good at and I should let shine?” Harry widened his eyes and stared at Kingsley. “What would happen if I chose to develop several of them and not others? Are you saying that I should—”

“Harry. _Out_.”

Harry waited until he was in the corridor to laugh at Kingsley. And then he made it a single, quiet chuckle, so none of the usual talebearers who would linger around the office door could say that Harry Potter was receiving special treatment.

And then he put it out of his mind and left the Ministry with an eager stride. Just like Kingsley, he had better things to think about.

*

“Oh, no, no, no, no, _no_.”

Harry stepped back from Lucius’s front doors and smiled at Lucius, who stared at him for a moment as if he couldn’t imagine why Harry was drawing back from a kiss. Then he smoothed himself back into compliance, the same strong discipline that had let him survive his divorce and Draco changing his last name to Black, and settled. “Yes, Auror Potter?”

“Well, not the _title_ ,” Harry said, and swept by him. He knew, less by the sound of the movement than by the feel of heat and eyes on his skin, when Lucius turned to watch him, and a little thrill swept through him. But making it easy for Lucius wasn’t in the cards. He turned and smiled at him. “But you’re a rich old pure-blood. The sort of man people would whisper and gossip about behind their hands.”

“Yes?” Lucius shifted a half-step nearer without moving his feet. At least, Harry was watching him now, and he would have sworn he never saw him move.

Harry lifted his eyebrows. “So I want to taste the gossip. I expect to be _seduced_ , Lucius. I will admit, carrying me to bed and feeding me breakfast and sleeping chastely beside me was very nice. But other than that, what can a rich old powerful pure-blood who should be sleeping with someone his own age, oh _dear_ , do?”

Between one moment and the next, Lucius transformed. Harry gasped as he felt Lucius’s magic, more clearly than he had ever felt it. It seemed to fill the room like incense, a subtle, shimmering mist of sweetness and wonder.

Lucius did it all with the change in his posture, with his eyes. He eased towards Harry—letting Harry see the steps he took this time, all right—and bent over Harry. His hands slid up and down Harry’s neck, his collarbone, and up to circle his throat.

Harry watched him, and knew Lucius probably felt the pulse going crazy beneath his palm. That was all right. That was _more_ than all right. Harry was going to have fun with this, and he suspected taunting Lucius was only going to become more fun as time went on.

“Seduction, is it?” Lucius whispered in one ear. “Then come into my dining room, Auror Potter, and we _will_ see who seduces who.”

“What, did I make you forget your name already?” Harry taunted as he pulled back, but even he could hear the shakiness in his voice. And Lucius only gave him a darkly shining smile, before taking his hand and drawing Harry along behind him, towards the dining room.

_I’m about to get a lesson in seduction, I think._

But being in over his head was probably Harry’s favorite place to be. Unless Lucius taught him to like being on his back better.

*

“You didn’t think you’d get to eat on your own, did you?”

Harry leaned his head back and breathed a little. It was the first time he’d been able to since he sat down. Lucius had immediately picked up a plate that the house-elves had supplied, one filled with slices of fruit so transparent that Harry was amazed Lucius could grip them—they looked like they would cut his fingers or just slip out of them—and started holding them out.

Harry tasted orange, cherry, plum, and peach before he could even protest, and then he only managed something garbled about “feeding each other.” Lucius had lifted his eyebrows in a look of such polite disdain that Harry could hear the whole argument that would follow without words.

Then he’d tried to say something about eating on his own, and now he had his answer.

“You must be hungry,” Lucius said softly, as he held out another slice that might be apple, although Harry had never known apple could be sliced to such a slenderness that it glowed like it was made of fire. “After all, I can’t think of any other reason that someone desperate to be seduced would resist one of my kisses. Unless he’s not hungry for one of _them_.”

Harry met Lucius’s eyes, and had to grin. He’d issued a challenge. Lucius was meeting it. He could complain, but no one would listen, and they’d be right not to.

“Something other than fruit, then,” he added, before Lucius could slide the apple past his lips. “Show me that your palate is…varied.”

Heat in Lucius’s eyes that made the light coming through the apple seem like nothing, and then he nodded and laid aside the plate. There was another platter already waiting, this one with transparent slices of meat. “Open your mouth,” he said, in a tone that made Harry imagine other contexts where he would say that.

Harry shivered, and obeyed.

*  
  
By the time they finally moved from the table to the bed, Harry’s stomach was full almost to aching point, and he wondered how hungry Lucius must be. He hadn’t eaten anything Harry had seen, unless he’d sneaked something when Harry had his eyes closed in ecstasy over the sweetness of some taste.

Harry did ask, as Lucius led and nudged and urged him in the direction of the bed he’d slept in last night. But Lucius only smiled and ran his eyes up and down Harry’s body in one of those ways that gave such a clear answer Harry was half-ashamed he’d asked the question.

On the other hand, it gave him a little thrill, that Lucius wanted to starve himself in pursuit of a goal. Harry could only wriggle when he thought about how someone that…single-minded could apply himself to pursuits other than feeding him.

Lucius didn’t let Harry simply lie on the bed, though. He immediately _arranged_ him, sliding pillows beneath Harry’s hips and staring at him critically, spreading his legs, shaking his head, and urging them back again, and then standing back and surveying him like a painter getting ready to set up a scene. Harry sat up on his elbows and laughed openly at Lucius, who only gave him a patient glance when he did it.

“Don’t you think you’ve ruined the mood?”

Lucius tilted his head to the side so that his hair ran down his neck like a river, while one of his eyebrows rose above the other one. And suddenly, no, he hadn’t. The mood was back, thick enough that Harry gasped a little.

“I thought not,” Lucius said, and then those were the only words he proceeded to speak.

He traced his fingers up and down Harry’s legs, while they were still clothed, but lighting enough sparks even so to make Harry wriggle and raise his hips. Lucius ignored the invitation, only watching, the pressure of his eyes as heavy as a hand. He reached Harry’s hip and traced out a spiral from there, a flower, and even cupped, for a moment, slender, warm fingers around Harry’s balls. But before Harry could even gasp appreciation of that fleeting touch, it was gone again.

And then Lucius stepped back, flicked out his wand, whispered what sounded like a very _specific_ spell that Harry didn’t know, and touched his wand to Harry’s Auror robes. They turned into what looked like red dye, melted off Harry’s shoulders, and reformed as cloth off to the side of the bed before Harry could even make a clever comment about the kinds of odd fetishes Lucius appeared to enjoy in bed. Lucius did the same thing to Harry’s shirt and trousers, but when he got to his pants, he lingered, staring, for a long time, at the ridge underneath it.

“Please tell me you know how to do it so that it doesn’t actually target my cock.”

Lucius looked up at him, and for a second, Harry thought his joke had gone astray, because he didn’t smile. But then Harry made out the twitching corners of his lips and the way he clamped his jaw, and relaxed. Because there was joy in that expression, joy so great that Lucius simply couldn’t let it out any ordinary way.

“Of course I do,” Lucius said, and whisked the pants away in the next instant, leaving Harry naked.

Harry arched his hips unsubtly. At least Lucius choked a little. Or Harry thought he did. It was sort of hard to tell sometimes, which was horribly unfair.

“Are you going to strip the same way?” he asked, when he thought Lucius had had enough time to look.

Lucius shook his head, eyes solemn in their brightness, and laid his wand aside. Then he began to strip, hands and arms moving with a fluidity that stole Harry’s breath. There were only so many angles that someone’s elbows could move, after all, and most of them weren’t hot.

Lucius found all the hot ones.

He was fit, firm, pale, long. He had more scars on his shoulders than Harry would have expected, given the robes he liked to wear. And he didn’t wear anything except pants under his robes, either. He still made the undressing last longer than Harry’s had, and Harry was the one breathing hard enough to hurt by the time he finished.

“ _Please_ ,” Harry said at last.

And Lucius joined him on the bed, and cast his hair around their faces as they kissed.

*  
  
It was somehow, all, _lighter_ than Harry would have expected.

The motions was constant, and the heat. Lucius was always moving. Even when he finally made his way to where Harry most wanted him and put his hand on Harry’s cock, it only stroked gently for one moment before Lucius altered his position and kissed Harry’s shoulders. And then he somehow went about making even Harry’s knees and elbows want him, with fleeting touches to both.

Harry was gasping and streaked with sweat by the time Lucius raised his head to regard him, a languid, satisfied serpent.

But that didn’t mean Harry could just lie there, either. He twisted up to meet Lucius, and trailed his fingers down Lucius’s cheek. Then Lucius moved to kiss him, so it was his own fault that Harry only touched him as long as Lucius had touched _him_. And when their lips met, Harry was ready.

He gave Lucius one single, long lick over his teeth and his tongue, and then pulled back and went to kiss his collarbone. Lucius tugged his head back up. Harry smiled innocently into his face.

“What?” he asked. “I didn’t know you wanted something else—”

His words ended in a gasp as Lucius bore him back and reconnected their mouths. But still, Harry had made Lucius react like that, instead of losing all his control just because Lucius was there and touching him. And the way he had once promised, he lifted his legs and wrapped them around Lucius’s waist, holding on tight.

Lucius was making inaudible sounds against his lips; Harry could feel them, but he couldn’t tell what they were, grunts or groans or something else. And Harry didn’t care, either. It was tremendously exciting just to know that Lucius was _making_ them. He hunched so close that Lucius had to stop moving for a second to adjust to his weight, and then Harry rubbed their erections together.

The spark was so great, leaping like air and fire, that Harry thought he might come right there. Lucius seemed to be fighting the same impulse, freezing for a second and clamping his teeth down in Harry’s lip. Then he pulled back and stared at him with such a comical look of dismay that Harry was startled into laughter.

The laughter deepened the tension instead of eased it. Lucius pulled back, shaking his head and still sending his hair rasping down Harry’s skin, and then followed that with his fingers and his mouth. Harry trailed off into a gasp again, and Lucius smiled contentedly at him before he held up his wand.

Harry started. He’d lost track of his own wand, and could only hope that they hadn’t rolled over on it. And that was amazing, because normally he knew where his wand was at all times. An Auror had to.

Lucius smiled now exactly as if he understood what Harry was thinking and was gratified by it, and continued calmly, “ _Accio_ Serpent’s Oil Balm.”

Harry raised his eyebrows as the pot of balm zoomed into Lucius’s hands. He had heard it was thick and slippery and made your skin smooth and eased the pain of small cuts better than any potion, but it wasn’t like he’d ever felt it. It cost thirteen Galleons and came in small fuck-you-you-should-have-money pots.

“You want to put that on my arse?” he asked. “Expecting to bribe me?”

Lucius didn’t look up from the lid of the pot, which he was teasing open. “Rather, I expect you to be worth it.”

He didn’t need to flush to get his point across. Truly delighted, Harry only gave one more gliding touch, to Lucius’s ear, before he rolled over and lifted his arse in the air.

“Ready when you are,” he said to Lucius over his shoulder.

It seemed Lucius wasn’t going to be ready for a long time. He fussed and stared and spread Harry’s cheeks as if they, too, cast thirteen Galleons a pot, and then inserted his fingers so softly Harry didn’t really feel them.

Harry rolled his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. He supposed he had to let Lucius take his time, but he didn’t expect the Serpent’s Oil to feel _that_ different. This part of the process was the same with everybody.

Or so he thought, until he looked over his shoulder again and saw the rapt expression on Lucius’s face.

Harry ended up shuddering and dropping his face straight down into his arms. No, this was different. And he didn’t care about the smoothness or slickness of the Serpent’s Oil as it ran down his crack and Lucius’s fingers. He burned because Lucius wanted to take that much care with him, and at the same time he’d still trusted Harry to save his life and bear his confidences. They could talk all they liked about his talent and his potential, Lucius and other people, but he wasn’t sure if he was talented enough to take this.

“Come on,” Harry finally groaned, when the burning had grown to the point where it felt like a need. He reached back and tried to catch Lucius’s hand, but it went through his fingers, as light as his hair, and then at least the bed shifted and Lucius caught his breath. Harry, thinking that was encouraging, wriggled his arse to see what would happen.

“You are so _tempting_ ,” said Lucius, hoarsely, and then reached out and slid his fingers back inside.

“And ready,” Harry added. “And tight. And slick. Come _on_.”

He was prepared to add more adjectives, but Lucius had already begun to slide in. Harry caught his breath for a second, but then made the mistake of looking over his shoulder again. Lucius looked as tense and reverent as he did. Harry had to smile, and that relaxed him enough that Lucius entered more easily.

“Why smile?” Lucius panted, bowing his head so that he was resting against Harry’s back.

“Because you looked—like—you were at the Wizengamot or something,” Harry said, and his panting was growing acute. He lowered himself until he rested on the sheets and pillows instead of trying to hold his cock above them. “And you need to—move. Who’s the one—being seduced here?”

“I am no longer sure.”

Harry’d had just enough time to interpret that whisper when Lucius did indeed begin to move, and thrust hard enough that Harry’s eyes crossed. He promptly slid his hand underneath his hips to wank himself, and Lucius’s hand joined his.

_If he has one hand on me, then that means I’m doing the majority of the work—_

But then their motions became mingled and confused again, so light that they tangled the thoughts in Harry’s brain and sometimes he lost track of who was thrusting, who was being thrust into.

The pleasure was immense, wonderful, spiraling like his thoughts, and Harry groaned and grunted to show Lucius how he felt. Lucius stayed mostly silent, although he bestowed a kiss or a brush of his hair on Harry’s shoulder as often as he could in response. It was just hard work, and after a while, Harry did have to lie there, hand trapped underneath him since he was too tired to lift up, and let Lucius thrust and guide the pleasure.

It came to a head in a sudden spark, the way it always happened for Harry, and he tossed his head and gasped in warning. Lucius seemed to take it as a challenge instead of a warning, though. He abruptly yanked Harry’s hips up, tugged Harry’s hand out from underneath them—to the relief of the bones in Harry’s wrist and arm—and thrust hard and held it.

Harry came, and lost himself in a storm of shaking and blithering. _God,_ he felt good.

When he opened his eyes again, he had the wetness on his back to tell him that Lucius had come, too, and the light kisses to say that he was still there. Harry flipped his hand back over his shoulder.

Lucius caught and held it.

They didn’t need to speak, not after that.

*

“ _What_ were you doing?”

“Coming up the stairs,” said Harry, which was true, and took off the robe he’d put on to do it. Then he snuggled into the bed next to Lucius and sighed in delight as a small tray with a mug of hot chocolate on it appeared on his side of the huge pillows. Harry sipped from it. It was the perfect temperature, of course. “I love house-elves.”

“You must have spoken to them. I rarely take breakfast in bed.” Lucius settled with his chin on Harry’s shoulder.

“Yes, I did.” Harry closed his eyes and let his arm dangle down Lucius’s chest, hand ending up near one of his nipples. The way Lucius stilled for a moment was nearly as good as the chocolate. “And why don’t you often have breakfast in bed? That sounds appropriately decadent for a Malfoy.”

“Too decadent. It’s the sort of thinking that corrupted my uncles.”

Harry wondered about that, but decided he didn’t want to ask right now. His muscles ached with delicious soreness, and Lucius’s breath was warm on the side of his neck, and the chocolate felt the same way in his mouth. He let his head droop and his eyes drift shut and his mind do the same thing as Lucius began to rub his shoulders.

He had to jerk away with a hiss, though, when Lucius’s fingers found a bloody scab. “Sorry. Not there. Not this morning,” he had to add, when he opened his eyes and found Lucius staring at him. “But it’ll heal soon. I just don’t care to try a Healing spell on a wound that small, when I already tend to overpower them.”

“That was not there when we went to bed,” Lucius said, and now his eyes were accusing.

“No, it wasn’t,” Harry conceded, and rolled his eyes when Lucius rose further and further out of the warm cocoon of sleep Harry had been sure he was wrapped in. “Look, I got up this morning because I had a thought.”

“You will tell me what this thought was,” Lucius prompted, as Harry stopped and eyed him in hope that he would accept that much and not ask for more.

Harry sighed and nodded. “I thought that if we armed some mirrors around your Manor with this nifty little spell I’ve designed, we could attract the vampires who might still want you dead and trap them.”

“What is the ‘nifty’ little spell?” Lucius handled the word like a fly he’d found in his soup.

Harry grinned at him. “That’s the neat part about it. I found a way to draw vampires to mirrors, and then enchant them to stare at the glass and try to keep making their reflections appear. While they’re doing that, they’re so occupied that they don’t pay attention to whatever people are doing around them.”

“That does not explain the scab.”

Harry sighed mournfully. “You do get worried about scabs too much, you know.”

“Harry,” Lucius warned in the tone of someone losing his patience.

“Right, right,” Harry said, and rolled his eyes a little. “Well. I used the spell to call some vampires in. I thought I would only get a few, but so many arrived that I was a little busy rendering them helpless and making sure they didn’t get out of control.”

“How did you make the spell specific to—no. Later. The scab now.”

“That makes you sound _really_ kinky,” Harry teased him, but held up a hand when Lucius continued to stare steadily at him. “Fine. Spoilsport. The vampire lord came. He was stronger than the others, and he could resist the spell better. He got in one claw-slice while I was subduing the others, and then he happened to catch a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror and I took him down.”

“You mean to say there is a vampire king tied up and staring at a mirror in my drawing room right now?”

“No.” Lucius stared at him again, and Harry added thoughtfully, “It’s in the ballroom, and it’s the vampire lord plus sixty others from his flock, and they’re in cages. Not tied up.”

Lucius bowed his head. Then he said, “And you did that all this morning. Because you had a thought.”

Harry shrugged at him. “You did tell me that it would be a good idea to stop hiding my talents. I was only trying to oblige you.”

Lucius raised his head. His throat was fluttering and struggling to hold the laughter in, and his eyes blazed. “Come back to bed,” he said, and nearly spilled Harry’s hot chocolate pulling him across the bed.

At least he didn’t touch the scabbed place again. And the way he smoothed Harry’s sore muscles with healing potions, later, after they got a different kind of workout, was gentleness itself.

Harry smiled and let himself drift, in a warm bed, under the tender hands of his lover, and with the feeling of a job well-done already purring through him, even though it was only ten in the morning.

_If this is what life is going to be like now that I’m demonstrating all my talents the way Lucius and Kingsley want me to, bring it on._

**The End.**


End file.
